


The Rush of Coming Home (She's Still On the Run)

by Rinari7



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: (It's all consensual), (kinda), Abnormals Made Them Do It, Car Sex, F/M, Handcuffs, Helen is Allergic to Feelings, Mild Angst, Semi-established relationship, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 16:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21256484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: Handcuffed in the backseat. Aphrodisiac abnormal musk. It's not as if this doesn't happen often enough (or something like it, anyways).





	The Rush of Coming Home (She's Still On the Run)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SammyFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammyFlower/gifts).

> I figured you'd get enough Teslen from this exchange, so I wanted to offer some Helen/James as well. I think I hit most of the prompts in some way or another: chained or bondage, abnormals made them do it, car sex, impromptu...  
Enjoy! :)

"She musked, didn't she?" Helen leaned her head back on the carseat, inhaling deeply and stifling a groan.

Beside her, James took his own slow, careful breath. "I do believe she did."

"Blast!" She twisted her hands in the cuffs. "You haven't got a pick on you, have you?"

"Afraid not, my dear."

"That'll have to be your next modification to that machine, then. A slot for a lockpick."

"Perhaps not the _ very _ first. I might want to prevent a recurrence of this situation, for that one."

The musk seemed to seep into her skin, heating her from within; she chose to channel it into frustration. "Did you absolutely _have_ to use Maraskan scale mucus?"

"At the time, I didn't exactly foresee supply being an issue." His breath was beginning to come heavily. "And it's certainly the best lubricant there is." Helen tried to divert her thoughts from the slickness gathering between her legs, from the flush on James' cheeks. He cleared his throat. "Hardly the best choice of words, I realize now."

"I think almost anything would sound suggestive at the moment." Her voice had roughened, lowered. "And it was my choice of topic." She cleared her throat. "My hairpins. They're hardly ideal as lockpicks, but they'll do."

"Have you any ideas how to extricate them?" He arched an eyebrow at her, and she finally dared to meet his eyes.

"Not on that topic, no," she conceded, darting her tongue out over her lips. Her ideas ranged more towards tasting the inside of his mouth, scraping her teeth along his collarbone, and settling down on his lap. "Shall we just get it out of our systems?"

"I take it you don't think we can get out of here within the next, say, minute and a half."

"Likely not." Maraskan medusae musk was incredibly potent to the human system, and especially in this sort of enclosed space...

"Then yes."

"Oh, thank God." She shifted to face him, pulling her legs up underneath her and accidentally kneeing him in the side of his thigh. "Sorry," she panted, "a bit clumsy."

He laughed, and leaned in to kiss her.

She opened her mouth immediately, teasing at his lips with her tongue, swinging one knee over to straddle his lap, and felt his groan of approval reverberate to her bones. Grinding against the bulge in his trousers was a relief and torture both. Her pulse raced, the taste of his lips heady, savory.

She might be able to come just from this, she admitted to herself, but she _ wanted _ more. “Clothes,” she muttered into his mouth, “off.”

“Can’t.” He nipped at the side of her neck, hard, sudden, the shock of it clenching her core. “I‘m afraid.” His usual gift for brevity exerted itself in full force when he — _they_ — got like this, single words in between breaths and moans and other uses for his mouth. “Can you?”

If she rose up, perhaps, on her knees, arched her back, perhaps her hands — she braced her shoulders on the edges of the front seats, pressing her pelvis against his stomach, and managed to drag the hole off his trouser button. “Your mouth — is bloody distracting.”

“It damn well ought to be.” He nuzzled her breasts, sealing his mouth over one nipple even through her clothing, sucking at it, laving. She arched into his touch, pulling his cock free of his pants.

“Thank God for skirts.” And loose underpants, as she guided him up the leg of her drawers.

Any response on his part was overridden by her breathy moan, his sharp grunt, her name on his lips and her “James!” echoing off the metal roof as she sank down.

“I have _ missed _ you like this.” A whisper she wasn’t sure she was meant to hear, as she fell forward against him, followed by a louder, reverent, “_Helen_.”

He always had been the goddamn gentleman, abnormal influence or no, and she never could quite hate that about him. “_Fuck_ me.” It fell as a plea, not a command.

He did, as best he could, bracing his back against the seat; she helped, as best she could, riding him, wary of losing her balance. She kissed him, messily, mouths parting and meeting again with their rhythm, teeth catching and nipping and pulling. Her climax built fast, hurried by the Maraskan, rushed like those last few miles of coming home. (She had been away far too long.)

The quiet _click_-and-_hiss_ beat of his machine-heart picked up, soft but oh-so-familiar. “Helen…” His tone said everything, the _I’m close_ and the _bloody hell this is good_ and the (quiet) _I love you_.

She tensed, closed her eyes, and exhaled _it’s-just-James_ ; she looked at his eyes, his lashes fluttering in ecstasy. _It’s just —_ “_James_,” she murmured, and saw the tension flow out of him, felt the twitch and throb of his orgasm.

Helen bit her lip, swore under her breath, “Goddamnit.” And the man whose scars she still felt, _his_ name she wouldn’t say.

James’ gaze settled on her, gratitude and pleasure and determination and adoration and understanding melting together in those blown pupils. She clenched around him, intentionally; he hissed with a minute shake of his head. With a quick, resigned nod, she acquiesced, shifting, trying to force herself to relax. Desire still thrummed restlessly along her skin.

“I shan’t leave you hanging, my dear. As soon as —”

“I know.” She truly did, though it didn’t help her impatience.

He arched his neck to — nip? nibble? — by her hairline, a gesture that puzzled her, until he returned to view with a hairpin and a stray red strand between his lips.

“First thing after we get the hell out of here,” he muttered, eyes already darkening again.

“It damn well better be,” she near-growled, and then couldn’t help but laugh among her insistence. “Give me that. I want these cuffs _ off _.”


End file.
